


Accidents with Bagels

by snarkymuch



Series: well that happened [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Blood, Fluff, Gen, Humor, Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt/Comfort, Knives are sharp kids, Tony Stark Has A Heart, but kinda serious, maybe a dash of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-10
Updated: 2019-04-10
Packaged: 2020-01-11 04:33:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18422898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snarkymuch/pseuds/snarkymuch
Summary: This could probably be read as a stand alone, but it picks up a week after Emergencies Only. Steve and the rogues are settling in after their return, but one Saturday morning, things go awry. They are tasked with keeping an eye on Peter, but in Peter style, he manages to maim himself making breakfast. Cue Steve to the rescue--kinda.





	Accidents with Bagels

**Author's Note:**

> I blame this on the fact I have cold and enjoy spreading misery. All errors are my own. Thanks to Erica45 for enabling me.

It had been a week since The Great Hostage Standoff, and Steve was starting to feel a bit more settled. The surprise of finding three teens at the compound had been a lot to take in—finding out one of them was Spider-Man was even more of an adjustment. Tony apologizing? That had sent him for a loop. All in all, Steve thought he was handling things pretty well considering.

That was until he walked into the kitchen early that morning and found blood—and not a little blood—a lot. There was a splattering across the bottom cabinets and across the counter. It looked like something from a horror film. It immediately put him on alert, and he looked around the scene, taking in the cream cheese on the counter and the half a bagel beside it—a huge butcher knife on the floor, the other half of the bagel resting next to it. Everything was sprinkled in blood. He could only imagine how someone managed to injure themselves this badly slicing a bagel.

“Friday,” Steve said, brow furrowing. “Who was in here last?”

The AI immediately responded. “Peter Parker, sir.”

Even though he wasn’t close to Peter, he felt a stab of concern. Tony was out of the state on business, not due back until that night, which meant Peter was somewhere in the compound dealing with an injury alone. Tony had trusted them to look after him until he got home. This wasn’t a good start.

He needed to find the kid and make sure he was okay, but before he could ask Friday where Peter was, he heard a groan from the living room.

“Please stop bleeding!” He heard Peter say. “What do you want from me? Oh, crap! It’s dripping on the carpet. I’m in so much trouble.”

Steve was out of the kitchen and around the corner quickly. What he saw shocked him. Peter was standing there pale and panicked. His hand had what looked like a t-shirt wrapped around it, soaked in blood. He stood frozen, eyes wide, staring at Steve.

“Uh, it’s not as bad as it looks,” Peter said. “The knife was just super sharp, but it’s really fine. Just waiting for the bleeding to stop. I swear. I’ve had so much worse. I probably shouldn’t say that. Sorry, I ramble when I’m nervous—not that you make me nervous. Well, maybe—”

“Kid,” Steve said, raising his brows and putting up a hand. “Stop. Just breathe.”

“Yeah, okay. Breathing. I can do that.” Peter nodded, adjusting the grip on his hand. Blood dripped onto the floor.

Peter looked like a startled animal. Steve found himself relaxing his posture, trying to come across less intimidating.

“How about I grab a first aid kit and take a look at your hand?” he offered. “Believe it or not, I’ve learned a few tricks over the years, and maybe we could go over to the table—away from the carpet.” He glanced at Peter’s dripping hand.

Peter drew his hand closer to himself, biting at his lip. He shook his head. “No, that’s okay. I—I should be fine. It’ll be fine. I don’t want to bother you.”

Steve sighed. Of course, this wasn’t going to be easy. He debated on calling Tony but decided against it—he could handle taking care of Peter. How hard could it be?

“It’s no bother, Peter,” he said. “Now let me take a look.” He began to approach the kid, but before he could get close, the boy turned and dashed off down the corridor.

Steve ran a hand through his hair, sighing. With as severely as he was bleeding, he knew he had to go after him. He needed medical attention, whether he liked it or not.

“Friday,” Steve said. “Where’s Peter?”

“He’s currently in the broom closet in the east corridor, Captain. You’ll find it to be the fourth door on the left if you proceed straight ahead.”

He jogged down the hallway and quickly found the closet—the blood all over the handle and frame a dead giveaway. Peter needed more practice at evading capture if he thought this was hiding.

He gently rapped on the door. “You in there, Pete?”

“No! I mean, maybe. I might be, but it doesn’t matter because I can’t come out.”

“Then can I come in?”

He heard a bang, and something clunked behind the door. “What? You don’t need to come in. I’m like totally fine. It stopped bleeding and everything. Really, no big deal.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “Lying to Captain America, huh?”

“Uh … No?”

“I’m coming in, Peter.”

As he pulled open the door, there was a crash. Peter lunged out, slipping by Steve and colliding with the opposite wall, leaving a bloody smear behind. He was off in a blur down the corridor and around the corner. Sighing, Steve took off after him.

He didn’t bother asking Friday where he was this time. Instead, he followed the droplets of blood on the floor. He made it all the way back around to the living area before the trail seemed to suddenly stop. He looked around, confused.

“Steve,” Natasha’s voice came from behind him. “Care to explain when it looks like someone filmed a cheap slasher flick in here?”

He turned to face her. “Peter’s hurt and not exactly willing to cooperate. I’ve been chasing him for the last ten minutes, but I lost him somewhere in here.”

She hummed, eyebrow raised as she looked over the trail of blood. “He can’t be far.”

A single drop of blood fell on the floor between them—followed by another.

They both glanced up. Peter was sitting on the ceiling, hand cradled to his chest. The shirt he had wrapped around his hand was beyond saturated.  

“Come down here,” Natasha said flatly. “You’re making a mess.”

Frowning, Peter shook his head.

Hearing footsteps, Steve glanced over his shoulder. Sam was walking into the room. “There you guys are!” He paused, looking at them, and then glancing up. “Whoa … Why is the spider-baby dripping blood from the ceiling? You know Stark ain’t gonna like this.”

Steve was regretting his decision not to call Tony more and more. He ran a hand over his face. “Everything’s going to be fine. We just need to get him down.”

“I could call Clint up here. He could dart him,” Natasha said with a shrug. “Kid would drop like a lead weight.”

“Hey, I can hear you, you know,” Peter said from above.

“Natasha!” Steve chided. “No one is darting anyone.” He looked up at Peter. “Look, we only want to help. Why don’t you come down here? We can get you fixed up and forget this ever happened.”

Peter pressed his lips together in a tight line, another drop of blood falling as he shifted the hold on his hand. He glanced between them and then gave a small nod before dropping to the floor. He looked pale, and there was a sheen of sweat on his brow. “Sorry for running.”

“I just want to make sure you’re alright,” Steve said. “If you’d rather Sam or Nat take a look, that’s fine, too—even Clint would be better than just waiting and hoping it heals okay.”

Peter’s shoulders sagged. “Yeah, you can look. It’s kind of gross though, so don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“I think I can handle a little blood.”

Steve sat beside Peter at the table as he carefully unwrapped the ruined t-shirt from Peter’s hand. He wasn’t going to admit it, but it was pretty gross. The cut was deep, slicing down through the meat between his thumb and index finger, pulling apart and exposing bone near the joint of his thumb. Had Peter used any more force with the knife, it would have lopped his thumb right off.

“This is a little deeper than I thought,” Steve said to Nat and Sam who were standing behind him. “Maybe we should call Tony.”

“That’ll go over great,” Sam grumbled. “I can just imagine trying to explain this. The first time we babysit, he almost loses a thumb.”

Natasha sighed. “I’ll make the call. You two watch him.”

“Friday’s probably already told him,” Peter said, making Steve glance up. “There’s probably some weird protocol for this. I wouldn’t be surprised if—”

“Where’s Peter?” Tony’s voice echoed through the room.

“—he showed up any minute,” Peter finished.

Tony was beside them in seconds, his eyes flitting between the bloodied t-shirt on the table and the towel wrapped around Peter’s hand. His eyes met Steve’s. “How bad?”

“He needs stitches—more than I feel comfortable doing,” Steve said.

Peter chewed his lip. “Can’t we just let it heal? The bleeding is nearly stopped. I bet if we wait, it will be fine in a few hours. Please?”

Tony ran a hand through Peter’s hair. “I’m sorry, kid. I know how much you hate them.” His hand fell to his shoulder, giving it a squeeze. “Friday, call in whoever’s on weekend rotation for medical.”

“Sure thing, Boss.”

Peter sagged back in his chair but nodded.

“Steve, can I have a word?” Tony asked.

He nodded, getting up and following him out of the room. They walked down the corridor until they were on the other side of the compound. When they got to the vast expanse of windows that overlooked the lawn, Tony stopped.

“I wanted to make sure he couldn’t overhear,” Tony said, turning to look out the windows. “Thank you for looking out for him today. I know he can be a handful when he’s hurt—especially if it means stitches.”

“Doesn’t like needles?” Steve guessed, and he could understand. Everyone had something they didn’t like.

“More like he burns through lidocaine too fast and feels every stitch go in.” Tony was staring out through the window. “Can’t really blame him for trying to avoid it.”

Steve nodded, understanding a little better why Peter had run.

“Boss, the medical team is en route. ETA fifteen minutes.”

Tony's face hardened, and he drew a shaky breath. “Thanks, Fri.”

There was an uneasy feeling in the air.

“It’s gonna be bad, isn’t it?” Steve asked quietly, imagining how it must be to watch Peter in pain.

Tony turned, running a hand over his face. “Yeah, and it never gets any easier.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm a tad bit torn. I kinda feel fine letting this stand on it's own, ending where it does, but then part of me is like WRITE MORE! Ugh. Undecided. Maybe I will slap a second chapter up for this soon. I'll wait and see how it's recieved.


End file.
